Depression – Who We Are


We seclude too much and far too soon.
Let someone in?
There is no room ...
Between the chaos and the demons,
that have embedded into our weak skin.

We fight for sleep, trying to silence what alarms ...
But to us, not a thing of the earth could disarm.

So we disappear and numb our brains in our own ways ...
Brushing those fake fuckin smiles onto our face.

We are bent, broke, burdens ... afraid to breathe ...
Afraid to let anyone see ... too in fear to speak ...
Cautious to not cause bothering ...

We become overweight, or flesh-less bone.
There isn't a happy medium,
trying to repair on our own.

It's pretty scary how much we hate who we are,
but live to heal anyone's scars.
When they hurt, we only hurt more ...
So what the fuck do we get attached for?

We want to hear all of their stories,
but refuse to share of our own burning ...
But keeping silent, we are learning ...
That we are ruined but we could repair them.

We do our daily rituals, that the others find abnormal,
but what they don't understand is that it is vital.

Surrounding ourselves just to feel useful ...
Sometimes we take leaps just to be youthful ...
Going out with strangers just to be uncomfortable ...
Everyone has a shit ton of fun,
but we cannot wait for the day to be done.

We're up late, while they go right to sleep.
Laying awake, or walking around for hours ...
contemplating fate and the bravery it would take
just to not be a coward.
But if we go, we'd only break more bones ...
We'd only inflict more stones ...
For them to carry ...
As we, they would burry.

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